


Insomnia

by SamanthaBlue



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaBlue/pseuds/SamanthaBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili can't sleep, and it's driving him to madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of the story I put on FFN a while ago. FFN has too many Mary-Sues so I'm opening an account here.
> 
> Also there's a bit like three quarters down that's a bit gory, so warning for that. If that's not your cup of tea just skip that paragraph, it should keep making sense.

There were many reasons for Kíli to be jealous of his older brother. Many he had befriended over the years had asked him what it was like to know he was second, to know his brother would one day become king and he would be left behind. Kíli didn't mind that; he had no desire for power and anyway, the dwarves of Erebor were in exile; and maybe Fíli, too, would never have to bear the responsibilities his great grandfather Thror had bore. He could also envy Fíli's looks: though while not quite there yet, Fíli's beard had the potential for magnificence while Kíli could never manage to grow anything more than a light dusting of hair, and he did tire of the snide comments of his oddly shaped nose and lean frame. But Kíli was a confident sort, and now he was older and less sensitive, he no longer minded being ugly so long as he had family and friends. He would have liked an appearance more like that of his brother, but his heart did not burn with jealousy as others might have expected it would.

There was only one thing Kíli felt jealousy over: Fíli was able to sleep.

Dís loved her sons equally, but Kíli, with his constant screaming and the fact that he seemed to rest far less frequently than normal babies, had tried her to her last nerve. Then he'd grown up, and she would be woken up shortly after falling asleep by a toddler, complaining of his difficulties resting. She had held him and sung to him until he managed to drift off, and she wouldn't dare move him, instead letting him share her bed and not forcing him to wake up until he was ready. These blissful periods of rest became longer and longer, and by the time he was six, Kíli no longer complained that he couldn't sleep. She was sure he was not simply pretending, either, as Fíli and he shared a bed, and Fíli happily confirmed Kíli finally slept through every night.

By the time he was a teenager, the troubles had started again. Kíli would lie there, listening to his brother's snores, unable to drift off himself until much later. As the years went on, the long hours spent tossing and turning had evolved, and now Kíli would frequently skip entire nights. He became cranky and irritable on the worse days, until Thorin had a stern word to him on the proper treatment of family when he was seventeen.

"I can't help it, Thorin," he said. The words were meant to be sincere, but he had now been awake three days and they were tinted with a hint of hysteria.

"That's a boy's answer," said Thorin harshly. Then he seemed to regret his sharp words, for he reached out and placed a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "You take after me, Kíli. When I was your age I had to learn to control my temper also. But it's important you put more effort in, because you're hurting your mother when you yell."

Kíli didn't know what he could possibly say. He constantly felt like he was falling. The tiniest things had him in tears and he couldn't cope with the irritation induced by someone pouring liquid into a glass - what his mother had done to incite his ire. And no one would listen to him - no one understood just how much of an effect not sleeping had on him. So he said nothing, trying instead to blink back tears so his uncle wouldn't think him weak.

Fíli understood - as much as someone who had no trouble sleeping could understand. He didn't ridicule Kíli; instead he tried to comfort him when things got too hard. Sometimes, if he was having a bad night, Fíli would stay up with him, though it was never more than one night, and Kíli was alone again later.

It was a few years later that Fíli really began to get concerned. He found his brother out the back of their house, standing with his bow in front of the target he'd set up. But that was all he was doing, just standing there, pale faced and sickly looking, bow held loosely in one hand and a dropped arrow on the ground next to him. When Fíli glanced to the target, he saw three arrows scattered across its surface, nowhere close to the bullseye, and at least two lodged in a tree behind the target, not at all like his usually accurate brother.

"Kíli?" Fíli asked softly, frowning when he approached Kíli and the younger dwarf still gave no indication as to his presence. His mouth was slightly parted, eyes staring vaguely into the distance. "Kíli!" Speaking sharply now, Fíli reached out and gave Kíli's shoulder a slight shake.

This seemed to work: Kíli's jaw snapped shut and he blinked, looking around. "Hm?" he asked.

"I just..." Fíli began, not knowing what to make of the episode. "I just wondered if you were hungry."

Kíli took a little too long to answer, but the nod came, and the brothers went inside. They ate in silence, and Fíli observed his brother quietly. Kíli only nibbled, there was a subtle rocking motion in the way he sat and his eyes were constantly drifting towards the corner of the room. When Fíli looked, he saw nothing that could attract Kíli's gaze.

Then something worse happened. Putting down his plate, Kíli got to his feet and walked over to the front door of their little house. At first Fíli thought he was going somewhere, but Kíli only opened it and looked outside. A frown creased his forehead.

"What is it?" Fíli asked, speaking in a hushed voice, almost afraid to speak at all.

Kíli closed the door. "I wonder where they went," he said.

"What?" Fíli asked, baffled. "Where who went?"

Kíli met his eyes, something akin to amusement in his gaze. "The people who knocked on the door, of course."

Fíli couldn't have felt worse if he had fallen through a crack of ice on a frozen lake. "Kíli…" he muttered, trying to mask his horror. His mind drifted to when Kíli had been stealing glances into the corner of the room, and he felt a bit sick. "No one knocked on the door."

"What are you talking about; of course they did," said Kíli, dismissively. "It was probably children."

Fíli's horror struck face didn't hold enough interest for Kíli, for he looked away and walked back to the table, where he again began nibbling on his lunch. Fíli said no more on the matter, and Kíli no longer looked into the corner, but there remained a sense of tenseness in the air that Fíli was not quite certain Kíli picked up on.

After that incident, there were numerous other events that caused Fíli's concern to multiply. Kíli would frequently zone out, staring into nothing for much too lengthy periods, and sometimes he'd ask Fíli to repeat himself. Fíli would have to tell him he hadn't actually said anything.

Once this happened late at night, just when Fíli was beginning to drift off. Kíli's soft question jerked him awake, and after he once again gave the standard answer, Kíli did not give the standard response of "Oh." He was silent for a moment, but then the bed shook as Kíli tried to suppress a sob.

Kíli wasn't a crybaby, Fíli knew this. He was only so teary because he could never sleep. Fíli would cry like that too had their positions been swapped – and on the rare occasions he had stayed up more than one night, Fíli had cried too. Kíli was the strongest dwarf he knew: no one else, not even Thorin or Dwalin, had suffered from exhaustion as long as Kíli.

Fíli reached over and wrapped an arm around his younger brother, feeling the shake in his hand as Kíli grabbed hold of his arm. "I don't know what's happening to me," he said softly, and Fíli tried not to think about stories of men and dwarves who had succumbed to madness and been taken from their families. Kíli wasn't crazy. He wasn't.

It was a very long time before Fíli fell asleep that night, and Kíli did not sleep at all.

Kíli's mother had once suggested he try and sleep during the day, just to see if it would help. It certainly couldn't be any worse than the tough nights. Kíli had found it did help, oddly enough, but only occasionally, and never for more than two hours.

He hadn't bothered training in a long time. He'd long since given up any delusion that he was fit for any kind of magnificent battle like the ones Thorin described, and nothing ever disturbed the little town in which they resided. Kíli would have missed training if he weren't so sick. Because that was what he was: sick. He'd been so for years.

He had a strong notion that nobody else understood what he went through. He couldn't remember what it was like not to have a headache – actually, he couldn't remember a lot of things. Sometimes he'd find himself standing somewhere and not remember how he had gotten there. His whole body ached and he trembled with exhaustion. He felt nauseous a lot and he was so dizzy that sometimes he'd just start falling sideways and he'd have to catch himself. Some days his headache grew and he'd be reduced to lying in bed, eyes slammed shut, trying not to cry from the pain.

And now the hallucinations.

It had started with small, innocuous things. A buzzing that sounded like there was a fly in the room when there was nothing there, voices heard from so far away he couldn't tell what was being said. He hadn't even been sure they were hallucinations. Then the doorbell had rung – only it hadn't. He had imagined it. He might have thought some children had done it as a joke – he'd done it too as a child – but Fíli had heard nothing. And that same day, Kíli had been sure he had seen movements in the corner.

The hallucinations now came more often. Fíli knew what was happening – Kíli was sure. He was constantly on edge now; he wasn't sure when Fíli was going to crack and tell their mother or Thorin, and then he could say goodbye to his family. He tried not to think of the horrors that awaited the madmen sent away. Every time it did cross his mind, he could hear their screams.

It was a Tuesday when Thorin came home early, opening the door and trying to be quiet as he shrugged off his coat. They always tried to be quiet when they came home now in case Kíli was resting. Sometimes, if Kíli was lucky enough to fall asleep at the dinner table, Thorin, Dís and Fíli would all stand up, quiet as possible, and sneak outside so he could get as long as possible to recuperate. But Thorin was coming to his wit's end, not knowing how to help his nephew. He wasn't fooled by any brave face: anyone could see how horrifically sick Kíli looked, and Thorin had woken more than once to crashes in the middle of the night when Kíli had just toppled over. He never tried to help there, either: if Kíli passed out that might at least get him some sleep.

There was no need for silence that particular day, though. Kíli was sat at the wooden bench next to their table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since grown cold, staring at the wall again. It seemed all he did now; stare at the wall until somebody caught his attention.

"Kíli," Thorin said clearly, trying to do just that. Kíli didn't respond at first, but that wasn't entirely unusual either. Thorin strode over, sitting across from Kíli, directly in his line of sight. "Kíli!" he said again.

Brown eyes were slow to focus on him, but Kíli offered no words. He just stared for a brief moment, and Thorin tried not to grow too worried. Kíli often needed a moment or two to process changes in his surroundings.

But all thoughts of calm flew out the window when Kíli's mouth opened and he let out a whimper, which became a moan of horror. His hands began to shake, and when Thorin tried to reach out and hold them, Kíli ripped them away from his grasp, forgetting to let go of the mug of tea and spilling it all over himself. He gracelessly stumbled off the bench, backing up until he fell into a corner, and he sat pressed against it, his eyes never leaving his uncle's face, and never stopping the low moaning.

"Kíli!" Thorin said, trying to keep his voice low so as not to scare him, but unable to keep the note of desperation from his voice. "Kíli, it's me!"

This only seemed to make things worse, as tears welled in Kíli's eyes. Thorin was too afraid to come any closer: it was clear Kíli was not in his right mind. When had he ever been? Thorin asked himself. The last time he remembered Kíli looking completely healthy was when he was a child.

Thorin didn't know what to do. So he was filled with relief when he heard the door open and Fíli walked in. The blonde dwarf heard the noise Kíli kept emitting, and took only a moment to appraise the situation before leaping into action.

Neither of the older two could ever know what Kíli experienced right then. He was filled with blind, paralysing terror, as he was forced to sit and watch as the flesh slowly bubbled up on Thorin's face and melted away. He could hear him call his name, voice tinted with worry, and the face in front of him did not quite move in sync with the words he heard. It was frightening when the jaw moved, for soon the skin was gone and red, bloody tissue was all that peeked from under black hair, eyes rolling in their sockets and changing colour and Kíli knew the monster had come to get him. When the bloody flesh began to disintegrate, it didn't just melt off the face; it rotted, turning green with disease, and Kíli figured it should smell of death, but he strangely smelt nothing. But he could already see white bone beneath the most deadened tissue, as muscle and blood rotted and crumbled away.

There was another voice with Thorin's now. Fíli's. Kíli wanted to scream, tell him to run, but he was utterly paralysed – unable to even run himself. He felt powerless to lift a finger as he imagined Fíli, too, being overcome with this horrible sickness.

But then Fíli stepped in front of Thorin, and his face was young and full and healthy. He was speaking in soft, slow tones, and slowly the noises Kíli was hearing began to synchronise with the motions of Fíli's mouth. Kíli became aware that he was moaning, and he shut his mouth, staring at Fíli with hope.

"It's gone?" Kíli asked softly.

Fíli nodded, now feeling comfortable enough to reach out and hold Kíli's shoulder. "It's gone," he confirmed.

When Thorin stepped out from behind Fíli, Kíli saw that his face was whole, and he trembled with relief. "I think," said Thorin softly, "it might be time we talked to a healer."

All at once, the peaceful feelings fled Kíli's mind, and he tensed up. "You're going to send me away," he accused.

"Kíli, no –"

"I shouldn't have trusted you!" Kíli interrupted viciously, and he looked away as he saw hurt cross Thorin's face. He knew he was being irrational, but his paranoia was too great right then to quash.

"Kíli," Fíli said softly, "you need help. We'll ask Óin. You… you trust him, don't you?"

Óin had treated Kíli a number of times. Since his sleeping problems had become very serious, it seemed to have a bad impact on his immunity, and he got infections more often and stayed ill longer than most.

The forefront of Kíli's mind was fearful, telling him to run. With great effort, he quashed it down. Even if he did not trust Óin or even Thorin, he trusted Fíli. Fíli would always look out for him. "You won't send me away?" he asked.

"Never," Fíli promised, and Kíli believed him.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming by?" was the first thing Thorin uttered as he shut the door behind Óin.

Óin frowned. "No. I live alone, and unless someone has need of my services, it's a rather solitary life."

His mouth quirked, but Thorin did not return the sentiment. He didn't offer Óin a seat or a drink or any of the usual courtesies; despite what they had assured Kíli, he was nervous. The family would never abandon their youngest, but if word got out Kíli was having hallucinations, he might be taken from them without their consent, whether by capture and imprisonment or… worse. Thorin couldn't think the word.

But it had finally gotten to the point where they could deny no longer they needed help. So Thorin gathered his courage, and spat out, "Kíli had a fit this afternoon."

It wasn't exactly the right term, but Thorin didn't really want to say "hallucination" and he didn't know another word to use. Óin's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? A fit?"

"He saw things that weren't there," Thorin ground out. "Please, Óin, this must be kept secret. He's been having them for a while, but today was worse. There was no reasoning with him until Fíli came." When he uttered those words, Thorin felt for the first time the sting of failure. Why had Fíli's words been enough to calm him, but not Thorin's?

"I never tell others what is told to me in trust," said Óin. "Where is he?"

Thorin showed him to the room Fíli and Kíli shared, where both boys were sitting on the bed together, having just been talking. The sunlight streamed in from the window, but the room still managed to be glum. Thorin recognised that he would be crowding the proceedings, and quietly excused himself.

"Your uncle told me what happened today," said Óin. It was unclear which boy he was addressing.

"He's not crazy," said Fíli certainly, defensively. "He can't sleep. That's all."

Óin nodded slowly. "You can't sleep? For how long?"

Kíli nodded, but stopped when it made his head spin. "I don't remember how long this time," he said softly. "I don't remember feeling right."

Fíli squeezed his hand. "He's almost never slept well, but it's been getting worse."

"That's probably what caused the vision," Óin said, hoping he was right. He didn't really have much experience in the area of seeing things, but the results he'd heard of were almost entirely negative. It was possible – likely, even – that Kíli's brain just needed a rest. "I can give you something to help you sleep, if you like."

Óin never would have expected the reaction he got. Kíli's head snapped up, eyes glistening with unshed tears and unmistakable hope radiating from his pale face. "You can?" he asked.

Now Óin became a little angry. Kíli had obviously suffered needlessly for years. He wasn't so angry at Thorin or Dís; they weren't to know. But he had been treating Kíli for various ailments for years and never picked up on the problem. He had just assumed Kíli was one of those poor souls with precarious health for no apparent reason. He should have looked further. It had once taken him two months to get over a cold. "Yes," he said softly. "I can."

It was probably the fastest Fíli had seen Kíli move since he gave up weapons training. He almost jumped onto the bed, bringing his feet up so fast Fíli barely sore them move. Then the young dwarf apparently regretted it, because he snapped his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Do you have a headache?" Óin asked.

"Yes," said Kíli. "All the time."

Óin felt another stab of guilt at the answer as he reached into his medicine bag and withdrew the syrup he wanted. "I'm going to give you a high dose," he explained. "Many people who experience difficulty sleeping need more of the drug in order to feel an effect."

All of a sudden, Kíli's demeanour changed as he realised what he was letting Óin do. He was opening himself to attack – what if Óin was lying about the hallucinations being caused by a lack of sleep, and he just wanted to knock Kíli out so he could cart him off with minimal fuss? Now beady eyes stared at Óin as he poured the treacle-thick medicine onto a spoon.

"Kíli?" Fíli had noticed. "What is it?"

Kíli didn't answer, just glared at the medicine with a mixture of longing and revulsion. He desperately, desperately needed sleep, but he would prefer to spend an eternity awake than be taken from his family.

Fíli remembered the earlier words of insecurity with which Kíli had spoken, and correctly assumed his brother's misgivings. "Kíli, nothing will happen to you," he promised. "Óin's just going to give you the medicine so you can sleep… he won't take you anywhere." Óin frowned but did not comment. "I'll stay with you the whole time, just like you stay with me when I sleep. Alright?"

Kíli's longing gaze left the spoon in Óin's hand and he looked to his brother. And in Fíli's gaze he saw that he meant it, that Fíli would always look out for him. "Okay," he said softly.

It took a very long time for the medicine to work. First Kíli's body went limp, and he couldn't move. But his brain remained active, and in the corners of his vision, shapes danced. They became more defined as his eyelids fluttered and his brain began to project more solid images to make up for the lack of actual sight, and some of the visions were scary. But any time Kíli felt his fear mounting, there was Fíli, holding his hand or rubbing his shoulder, and his face held no worry, only contented acceptance. And soon, Kíli began to copy the emotion, until he finally – finally – fell asleep.


End file.
